


Only Need The Light When It's Burning Low

by tookumade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2783828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Iwaizumi said you came into school looking like a zombie, Oikawa said he hasn’t seen you look so tired in all three years he’s known you, and just today, you literally passed out during practice, so don’t tell me that nothing’s wrong, Hanamaki. We’re worried about you. What’s going on?”</p><p>You, thinks Hanamaki.</p><p>—</p><p>(In which Hanamaki has dreams about Matsukawa and it keeps him up at night)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hanamaki’s dreams rarely ever make sense, and that’s okay because dreams are generally weird that way, and he often appreciates the more light-hearted ones.  
  
Once, he dreamt about kayaking down the street (which was completely devoid of water) to get to Oikawa’s house (which looked nothing like it was supposed to), only to be told by his mother that Oikawa had moved to New Zealand to be a zookeeper. Another time, he dreamt that various people he knew had split up into three factions and were having epic food-fights with each other, and he was some sort of neutral helper for all three groups, but they had all eventually gotten pissed off at him because he never brought enough chocolate cake every time he came around. Recently, he dreamt that Oikawa and Iwaizumi had gotten married at the school in the most half-assed wedding he’d ever seen (they were both wearing white tuxedos, but their jackets were their school uniform’s white blazers), and that Ushijima Wakatoshi had appeared to tell them that it didn’t matter how pretty their wedding rings were, they’d never defeat his spike.  
   
His dreams aren’t always so fun, though. Like this night: he dreams about riding a motorcycle amongst a crowd of strangers until they all split off, and then Matsukawa is riding another motorcycle next to him. They ride for what felt like miles, and he feels the wind rush around him and it should have been wonderful and free, but then Matsukawa suddenly isn’t there by his side anymore. Hanamaki jolts awake and opens his eyes to find that his room is still dark. His digital clock on his bedside table tells him it is nearly three in the morning. He can’t fall back asleep.  
   
“You look terrible,” Iwaizumi greets him when he sees him in the morning, frowning.  
  
“Thanks,” says Hanamaki sarcastically.  
  
“What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. I just couldn’t sleep much.”  
  
“Are you going to be okay for practice?”  
  
“Of course I am. I’ll even kick your ass at arm-wrestling.”  
  
Hanamaki does not kick Iwaizumi’s ass at arm-wrestling later that day, and at this point, no one is surprised anymore.  
  
“Okay, everyone,” says Iwaizumi, grinning from his victory as he gets up from his chair and looks around at their fellow team members who are enjoying the show, “practice starts in less than ten minutes, so go get ready. Watari, please lead the warm-up.”  
  
“Got it!”  
  
As they file out of the room, Iwaizumi looks down at Hanamaki, who has his head buried in his arms.  
  
“Go to sleep early tonight,” he says, cuffing his shoulder lightly.  
  
“Oikawa’s right,” Hanamaki mumbles, “you really are like a mother.”  
  
“You wanna go again, asshole?”  
  
“Ooh, are we just in time for a fight?” comes Matsukawa’s voice from the doorway, and Hanamaki feels a swooping sensation in his stomach as they both look up to see him and Oikawa enter the room.  
  
“Iwa-chan, you’re picking on Makki again? You’re such a tyrant!”  
  
“You _missed_ a fight,” says Iwaizumi as he swipes at Oikawa, who dodges gleefully. “I won at arm-wrestling.”  
  
“Ah, same old story, then.”  
  
Hanamaki groans and stands from his chair. “I hate you all,” he says.  
  
Grinning, Matsukawa slings an arm around his shoulders and musses his hair. “No, you don’t,” he says as they all head into the gymnasium. Whilst grumbling, Hanamaki leans his head on Matsukawa’s shoulder and grips a fistful of his sports jacket and doesn’t let go until he has to take it off, and practice begins.  
  
That night, tired from school and volleyball practice, Hanamaki goes to sleep early. He has another dream about Matsukawa, only this time, he is speaking, but no words come from his mouth.  
  
“What? I can’t hear you,” Hanamaki says in the dream, but Matsukawa keeps talking wordlessly, smiling and shrugging and gesturing as though nothing is wrong. “What are you saying? Speak up. Please, speak up.” It goes on for some time, and Hanamaki feels an increasing desperation and frustration, and he grabs at Matsukawa’s sleeves, and tears up as he pleads to him. Matsukawa suddenly yanks his arm away, and Hanamaki stumbles and falls forward and lands on the ground. Though doesn’t hurt because it’s only a dream, when he opens his eyes he finds that he has fallen out of bed, half-tangled in his blanket and one leg still propped up on his mattress. He is breathing as though he had just run a race, and that feeling of desperation remains. His clock reads half-past two. He lies there for several minutes until his breathing has calmed, before straightening himself up and climbing back into bed.  
  
As Hanamaki lies bundled up underneath his blanket, there is a lingering feeling of uneasiness that he knows is unfounded. It was only a dream. It wasn’t even a really scary dream. It didn’t mean anything.  
  
And only half-conscious of what he is doing, he grabs his phone off his bedside table and dials Matsukawa’s number. It rings once, twice… five times… six times…  
  
“Do you have _any_ idea what time it is?” Matsukawa says into his phone when he answers, and at the sound of his voice—slurred by sleep and cranky, but very much Matsukawa’s voice—Hanamaki’s heart gives a leap. The uneasiness vanishes, and his shoulders relax.  
  
“Oi, are you there? Did you seriously sleep-dial me?” says Matsukawa. Hanamaki racks his brain for a response, but he is so relieved that nothing helpful comes to mind. After another few seconds of silence, Matsukawa hangs up, and Hanamaki is left to stare at his phone’s black screen for a while. Eventually, he too goes back to sleep, but fitfully, and he is woken up when the birds outside sing as the daylight breaks.  
  
When walking with Matsukawa to school and seeing him during lunch and Japanese class, neither bring up Hanamaki’s call during the middle of the night, and Hanamaki is more than happy to let him continue to think that it was just a random accidental sleep-dial. But it keeps him on edge a little, as though he expects Matsukawa to suddenly ask him when he’s caught off-guard and unable to come up with a believable answer, and this wears him out even more as the day goes on.  
  
“Makki,” Oikawa says to him at school on their way to their respective fifth period classes, “are you okay? You look so tired.” His usually playful tone is absent from his voice, which is rarely ever a good sign.  
  
“I’m fine,” says Hanamaki. “Really, I’m fine.”  
  
“Mm,” says Oikawa as he stares at him piercingly, and Hanamaki curses his friend’s sharp ability to read people. “If you’re tired, you should go rest in the nurse’s office.”  
  
“I know, but I’m fine. Thanks for the concern.”  
  
Though pestering Iwaizumi was one of his favourite hobbies, Oikawa also knew when to back off when people genuinely needed him to, like now. “Sure,” he says quietly as he pats Hanamaki’s shoulder. “Take it easy, okay?”  
  
_Is it really that bad?_ Hanamaki wonders as he heads into his English class. Bad enough that Oikawa didn’t make some silly remark like he usually did? It’s true Hanamaki hadn’t slept much in the past two days, but surely people have had worse? But he supposes, between volleyball practice, trying to get Matsukawa off his mind, dealing with school, and just generally being a growing high school boy who wasn’t replenishing his energy properly, it was going to catch up with him sooner or later…  
  
Like during his last class of the day (maths), when Hanamaki falls asleep half-way through. His teacher cuffs him over the head with a small stack of rolled up worksheets and gives him a sharp telling off that Hanamaki doesn’t really remember, just the sounds of his classmates giggling as he mumbles his apologies, and his ears burning with embarrassment. The class couldn’t end fast enough, and he darts out as soon as the bell rings. He practically power-walks out of school on his way home and doesn’t make eye-contact with anyone–  
  
“Hanamaki!”  
  
–until Matsukawa calls out his name, and Hanamaki is immediately on edge again as he turns around to take in the sight of him jogging to catch up.  
  
“You nearly ran me over when you were running for your locker, you know?” says Matsukawa as they fall into step beside each other. “I don’t think I’ve seen even Iwaizumi run that fast. Are you okay?”  
  
“I just had a desperate need to get out of class,” says Hanamaki stiffly. “It was maths.”  
  
“Ah, that’s understandable,” says Matsukawa nodding. But he sees the look on Hanamaki’s face and frowns. “You look… really tired.”  
  
_Great._  
  
“Maths,” repeats Hanamaki. “It put me to sleep and I really need a proper nap soon.” (Well, it wasn’t a lie.)  
  
He relaxes slightly when Matsukawa gives a little laugh. They continue talking about school woes the rest of their way home, though Hanamaki finds himself occasionally distracted whenever they bump elbows as they walked (he counts six times in total), and wishing very much that he could have been holding Matsukawa’s hand instead. He keeps his fists clenched inside his pockets, taking them out only when they reach the street where they split off so that he can give Matsukawa a little wave.  
  
That night, Hanamaki goes to sleep even earlier than yesterday. He is behind on his homework but so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, and only has the energy to brush off his parents’ questions of concern and assure them that no, there’s nothing wrong.  
  
He dreams about Matsukawa. Again. Only this time, Hanamaki dreams of trying to find him as he walks through a city, but he is nowhere to be seen. He searches through crowds of people, asking for him, calling out his name, and his voice echoes all around, but no one says anything. The city’s sky becomes a low ceiling with bright lights and Hanamaki feels suffocated, and he still searches for him, but for the whole dream, he doesn’t see Matsukawa even once, and has no idea where he could be. Hanamaki wakes up just before the crack of dawn, sweating a little and heart pounding hard. His shaking fingers grab at his phone and he drops it and nearly tumbles out of bed to scoop it up from the floor again, and then he stops right before he taps his phone’s dial button.  
  
He can’t call Matsukawa again; he would think something was wrong, and nothing was wrong, Hanamaki was just having dreams. Uneasy dreams that kept him awake for no good reason, but still just dreams, and calling him at this ungodly hour again wouldn’t be fair either; Matsukawa needed sleep, too.  
  
After another two minutes of deliberating, Hanamaki places his phone onto his bedside table and lies back on his pillow, pressing his hands to his face and sighing.  
  
He wants to see him _so badly_ that it feels like a dull ache in his chest, and he hates it. He had always thought—okay, _maybe_ naïvely—that having a crush on someone was meant to be fun, not something that involved dreaming about said person disappearing on him and then keeping him up at night, but here he is. And it isn’t something he can just switch off either.  
  
Hanamaki rolls out of bed and paces around his room restlessly for a bit. It is Saturday, which means morning volleyball practice in a few hours, and for the first time, he seriously contemplates skipping. That would definitely alert everyone to the fact that he is feeling off, though; he may not be the club’s most enthusiastic or hard-working player (that was Oikawa on both accounts), but he had only ever missed practice once, back in second year when he was out with the flu.  
  
And he _really_ wants to see Matsukawa soon.  
  
He shuffles to the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash cold water on his face and it wakes him up slightly. For the next two hours, Hanamaki tries not to think about his ridiculous crush (it’s _really_ difficult) as he cracks open his textbooks and tries to catch up on homework, which yields relatively productive results, but when his brain begins to mix simple kanji up, he throws his pen down and decides to stop and get ready for the day. He changes his clothes and packs his sports bag, but has no appetite for breakfast so he forces himself to drink a glass of juice and skips the rest, knowing that he will regret it later given that he still has practice to go through and little energy to power him on. Still restless, he leaves the house half an hour earlier than his usual time.  
  
He contemplates detouring to Matsukawa’s house first, but he probably wouldn’t be awake at this time in the morning, and Hanamaki felt that waiting around for him would be like giving into the fear left over from his dream. Because it was just that: a dream. It wasn’t real. He couldn’t let something that wasn’t real dictate his real-life choices more than it already did. Hanamaki keeps telling this to himself the whole way to the school gymnasium, but it’s not entirely convincing, and more than once he thinks about back-tracking and heading to Matsukawa’s house after all.  
  
Of course when he arrives at the gymnasium, no one else is there yet. Hanamaki sits on the steps leading to the front door and leans against the doorframe as he waits. It is peaceful, which is nice but he feels that he could have enjoyed it a lot more if circumstances were a little kinder to his health, and if he weren’t feeling so anxious. But despite the anxiety, the quiet sluggish atmosphere is too much for Hanamaki, and at some point he dozes off into a light sleep—light enough that he is woken up by the sound of keys jangling softly and gravel crunching under footsteps approaching him. There is a pause and he hears Oikawa and Iwaizumi consulting each other:  
  
“Do you think we can carry him in without him waking up?”  
  
“I doubt it, but we can try. You grab his ankles–”  
  
“Don’t touch my ankles,” says Hanamaki, opening his eyes and catching Oikawa leaping back to hide behind Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi staring at Hanamaki with a frown.  
  
“You should’ve skipped today and stayed at home to rest,” he says.  
  
“I’m fine,” says Hanamaki, though he really isn’t. “I’m always like this in the morning. Can you both please stop looking at me like that? I know my face is beautiful and everything but _really_.”  
  
“Oh jeez, he’s learning from you,” Iwaizumi says to Oikawa, who beams.  
  
“I know, I’m so proud.”  
  
“That’s nothing to be proud of!”  
  
“You two are so noisy,” says Hanamaki with a small dry grin. “If you’ve got that sort of energy, go spend it on volleyball. Don’t waste it here.”  
  
“Aren’t you coming in?” says Oikawa.  
  
“I’ll wait for the others for a bit. You guys go on inside first.”  
  
“Okay,” they chorus. Iwaizumi unlocks the door and they let themselves into the gymnasium, bickering most of the way. Hanamaki does not miss the looks of concern they both give him before disappearing from his view.  
  
As the minutes go by, various members of the club arrive and greet Hanamaki, and he smiles and greets them in return and tells them to go ahead, he’ll be joining them shortly. After nearly fifteen minutes which felt more like hours of increasing anxiety, Matsukawa is the last to finally show up, and apprehensively, he stares at Hanamaki still sitting on the steps.  
  
“Why aren’t you inside?” he asks.  
  
“Good morning to you too,” says Hanamaki, putting on his best deadpan face to hide an overwhelming sense of relief at the sight of him. He can’t ever let him know that though, so he adds, “It’s too early in the morning to be dealing with Oikawa and Iwaizumi”, which isn’t actually far from the truth either.  
  
“Fair enough,” says Matsukawa with an understanding nod.  
  
“Help me up,” says Hanamaki. “My legs have gone to sleep.” And they actually had, which was ironic given his current situation. His stomach gives a swooping feeling at the sight of Matsukawa grinning and rolling his eyes (he really liked seeing Matsukawa smile), and when he bends down to take Hanamaki’s arm and drape it around his neck, their faces are close to each other’s and Hanamaki fights back the urge to kiss him. Really kiss him. Kiss him all over his stupid face, his stupid mouth, his stupid–  
  
“Oi, dumbass, you’re heavy so you need to put in some effort too if you’re going to stand.”  
  
“You really know how to ruin a morning,” says Hanamaki without thinking.  
  
Matsukawa raises his eyebrows at him. “Want me to just ditch you here, then?”  
  
Hanamaki suddenly thinks of the motorcycle ride in his first dream of him and Matsukawa disappearing, and his arm involuntarily curls around his neck a little. “No, I’m sorry, don’t leave me,” he babbles, and Matsukawa gives a little laugh in jest, not understanding the weight of his words just now. With his help, Hanamaki stands up and they hobble into the gymnasium together and he lets go of Matsukawa very reluctantly, as though scared that if he let him out of his sight for too long, Matsukawa would disappear altogether.  
  
Volleyball practice goes on as usual, though Hanamaki spends a lot of his time hoping that no one will pick up on just how tired he is. But despite his best efforts in acting like nothing is wrong, he does catch Oikawa throwing worried looks at him more often than usual, and once again he curses the diligent way the captain picks up on small details.  
  
(He also thinks he notices Matsukawa looking his way more than he usually does, but Hanamaki has no idea whether this is actually true, or just his wishful thinking.)  
  
He almost makes it through the entire practice session until the last twenty minutes, in the middle of a practice match between the club members.  
  
“Makki!” Oikawa calls as the ball heads his way. He tosses to him, and Hanamaki, in a prime position to spike, jumps and swings his arm but it feels off and he realises in that split-second that he didn’t reach for the ball enough. As it hits the tips of his fingers instead of his palm, he knows that he has been found out. The ball lobs lazily in the air, Watari dives to receive it, and Kindaichi spikes it back over the net and earns his side a point.  
  
“Um… Hanamaki-senpai?” says Kindaichi tentatively, and Hanamaki can feel everyone staring at him as he tries to focus on his face.  
  
“Nice spike, Kindaichi,” says Hanamaki, but his own voice sounds muffled. His leg then buckles and the floor gives out from underneath him and he can feel himself falling. Someone catches him, yells his name, and he wants the world to stop spinning already–

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did this happen, how did I get so emotionally invested in these two, I wrote fic about them thinking it was going to be a light-hearted fun thing, how did I end up shipping them so hard, what am I doing here, how did it come to this— *lies down in foetal position*
> 
> (Thank you for reading!)


	2. Chapter 2

“Hanamaki. _Hanamaki!_ ”  
  
“Stop yelling,” he mumbles, and opens his eyes. There are faces staring back, and it takes him longer than it should to identify them: Oikawa, Iwaizumi, advisor Irihata, and coach Mizoguchi.  
  
“How are you feeling?” they all ask in unison, but there is another voice that stands out more, and Hanamaki tilts his head back and he sees Matsukawa. He realises that he is currently lying on the gymnasium floor and using Matsukawa’s lap as a cushion, and Hanamaki suddenly feels a very strong urge to crawl into a hole and die from shame.  
  
“I’m fine,” Hanamaki says, and hastily he pushes himself to sit back up, but it takes quite a bit of effort. There’s a firm hand on his back that he knows is Matsukawa’s, and this jolts him a little.  
  
“Do you know where you are right now?” says Oikawa, brows furrowed with worry. Hanamaki closes his eyes again and jams his palms against them.  
  
“School gymnasium. Saturday morning volleyball practice,” he says. “I’m fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately. Really, I’m fine.” Perhaps if he repeated it enough, it would become truth.  
  
There is a collective sigh of relief, and he can hear Oikawa stepping away to address the other members.  
  
“Okay everyone, he’s all right, so let’s get back into things.” His voice is his usual playful, calm tone, but it is forced this time, and that just isn’t right. “Continue on with your matches–”  
  
“No, Oikawa,” says Irihata as he checks his watch. “We’re only fifteen minutes from the end of practice. We’ll finish up here.”  
  
“I’m _fine_ ,” says Hanamaki as he takes his hands from his face, annoyed now.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Irihata sharply. “You need to rest. And anyway, Mizoguchi has a date with the pretty waitress from the udon shop later this afternoon–”  
  
“ _Irihata-san!_ ” Mizoguchi yelps in protest.  
  
“–and he needs to get ready, so let’s call it a day. Everyone, you’ve all been working hard this week, so do your stretches, then pack everything up and go enjoy the rest of your Saturday.”  
  
There are low noises of accord from their underclassmen and they scurry off to stretch whilst throwing Hanamaki looks of concern over their shoulders. For Hanamaki, the urge to crawl into a hole and perish doubles in intensity. As he hears Oikawa cheerfully tell Irihata and Mizoguchi to leave Hanamaki to them, he presses his head against his knees and runs his fingers through his hair, asking himself how things went so downhill. When the staff finally leave, the other third years talk amongst themselves whilst doing their own light stretches.  
  
“I can walk him home, he doesn’t live far from me,” says Matsukawa. “If he passes out again, I’ll just drag him by the ankles, no problem.”  
  
“He’s learning from you, Iwa-chan. You’re a terrible influen– _ack!_ ”  
  
“I can hear you guys,” says Hanamaki when he raises his head, and they look back at him.  
  
“Oh, we’re sorry,” says Matsukawa sarcastically, “we didn’t think you had enough _energy_ to still be awake. Do you want me to carry you out? Take your pick: bridal-style or fireman-carry?”  
  
“I will kill you,” answers Hanamaki as he gets to his feet a little unsteadily. He is surprised to find Matsukawa’s hand immediately at his elbow and hauling him up.  
  
“Look at you!” he snaps. “You’re in no shape to be killing anyone, _dumbass_.”  
  
“Mattsun,” says Oikawa quietly, and Matsukawa lets go and looks away whilst scowling softly. Hanamaki’s face heats up and stomach churns with guilt; he had really worried them all.  
  
“You two, you go on ahead and leave the packing up to the rest of us,” says Iwaizumi. “Send us a text when you’re at Hanamaki’s place. Kusokawa, go help pack up already.”  
  
“You’re so meeean.” Oikawa pulls a face at Iwaizumi, but also takes a moment to casually throw a towel over Hanamaki’s head to hide his red face from their underclassmen, and Hanamaki feels a reluctant appreciation towards them both. As Iwaizumi shoves Oikawa towards the first years untying the volleyball nets and Oikawa whines about how much of a caveman Iwaizumi is, Matsukawa drags Hanamaki to the locker room and they retrieve their bags and quietly leave the gymnasium amidst Iwaizumi making a show of violently beaning Oikawa with volleyballs, and their underclassmen watching them with uncertain laughter.  
  
They walk in silence. Hanamaki stares straight ahead the whole time, and though he hopes this gives the impression of feeling okay and being in charge of himself, it’s really because if he looks downwards, the dizziness hits again and threatens to send him sprawling over the footpath. He can feel Matsukawa staring daggers at him from behind which makes him even more self-conscious, and he is relieved when they finally arrive at his house after what feels like the longest and most uncomfortable walk of his life.  
  
“Are your parents home?” asks Matsukawa in a gentler voice when Hanamaki fishes his keys from his bag.  
  
“They’re both working today. They should be back soon, I think,” answers Hanamaki. He stares at the keyhole on the front door, silently prays that it’ll stop swimming in his vision, prays that his key in hand won’t miss the lock by an embarrassing distance.  
  
Of course it does. Twice.  
  
“Here,” says Matsukawa, reaching for it. Hanamaki yanks his hand away.  
  
“I can do this,” he says a little sharply. He expects Matsukawa to retort, and is vaguely surprised when he doesn’t say anything at all. Hanamaki tries the key again, misses for the third and fourth time, cusses softly under his breath, and presses his forehead against the door. He feels Matsukawa’s hand on his back again, and this time, it’s warm and reassuring, and his other hand closes around Hanamaki’s still gripping the key.  
  
“Next time I’m feeling like shit, you can take the piss out of me, but today is my turn so _let me_ ,” Matsukawa says with a bite of impatience, and Hanamaki feels all resistance leave him. Matsukawa pushes the key into the lock and turns it, and the door opens and they enter the house. As he shuts it behind them, Hanamaki drops his bag on the floor of the living room and invites him to do the same.  
  
“Do you want something to drink?” Hanamaki asks tiredly, privately hoping he doesn’t. “I think we have juice in the fridge.” He feels a hard shove on his back, and he face-plants onto the couch.  
  
“Lie down, dumbass,” says Matsukawa. “I’ll get it.”  
  
Hanamaki mumbles incoherently in protest but once he lays his head on the couch’s armrest and closes his eyes, he feels no more desire to move, and the world finally stops spinning. He can hear Matsukawa pottering around the kitchen, opening the fridge and the drawer of cup ware, rummaging through the pantry–  
  
“Those are my chips, asshole,” Hanamaki grumbles when he hears a soft crunching sound.  
  
“Not anymore,” Matsukawa calls back, and Hanamaki supposes it’s partially his fault for giving him free rein of the kitchen in the previous times he had come over to hang out or study.  
  
Shortly after, Hanamaki hears him re-enter the living room and set two glasses down on the coffee table. When he opens his eyes, Matsukawa has his phone in his hand.  
  
“Iwaizumi says that if you don’t get some proper rest, I have his and Oikawa’s permission to physically knock you out,” he reports.  
  
“Why are they the ones giving permission?”  
  
“They’re the boss and second-in-command, aren’t they?”  
  
“Oh, god.”  
  
Matsukawa just gives a short laugh. He drains his glass of juice before sitting down on the carpet to lean against the couch, tapping a reply to Iwaizumi’s message. Hanamaki watches him silently for a while and wonders what it would feel like curling up beside him. As he watches Matsukawa finish his text and place his phone on the table, he imagines holding his hands and pressing his lips to his long fingers.  
  
“Hey,” says Matsukawa, turning his head to look at him, and Hanamaki is brought sharply back to Earth, “what’s been going on with you lately?”  
  
“Nothi–”  
  
“Don’t,” interrupts Matsukawa in a quiet voice. “Just don’t. Iwaizumi said you came into school looking like a zombie, Oikawa said he hasn’t seen you look so tired in all three years he’s known you, and just today, you literally passed out during practice, so don’t tell me that nothing’s wrong, Hanamaki. We’re worried about you. What’s going on?”  
  
_You_ , thinks Hanamaki.  
  
“Is everything all right at home?” asks Matsukawa when he doesn’t answer.  
  
“It’s nothing like that,” says Hanamaki with some exasperation, staring hard at the ceiling. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Hanamaki honestly wants to punch him, but he knows this is unfair (and impossible, given that he can barely walk without feeling dizzy); if his and Matsukawa’s roles were reversed, he would be worried too.  
  
“Dreams,” he spits bluntly, face heating up again as he realises how stupid that sounds on its own, and he expects Matsukawa to scoff and poke fun at him.  
  
But “of what?” is all Matsukawa asks, and Hanamaki wishes he would scoff and laugh instead. There is a wave of frustration threatening to overwhelm him and he tries hard to fight it down. He is _not_ going to tell him about the dreams, it would _not_ happen–  
  
“I dreamt about you.”  
  
( _Fuck!_ )  
  
Matsukawa raises his eyebrows. “About me? Good or bad dream?”  
  
“… Mostly bad.”  
  
“Uh…”  
  
They are silent for a while; Matsukawa waiting, and Hanamaki mentally beating himself up. He holds onto his own wrist and presses the back of his hand over his eyes.  
  
“The first dream–”  
  
“First?”  
  
Hanamaki cringes. “There were three,” he says heavily. “In a row.” Fantastic, totally not weird at all.  
  
“Oh,” says Matsukawa. Hanamaki can’t translate what that ‘oh’ means.  
  
“In the first dream, we were riding motorcycles,” he murmurs. “I was riding with a bunch of people I didn’t know until they split off and I was by myself for a bit, but then suddenly you were there. You were riding next to me on another motorcycle. We rode for ages, and the scenery was amazing, like something out of a fantasy story. It was… It was really nice. I could feel the speed and the wind, and it was fun… but then you disappeared. I just looked up and you were gone. That’s when I woke up.”  
  
Matsukawa turns his body so that he can see Hanamaki more clearly and slouches in order to rest his head on the couch cushion. His face is impassive.  
  
“What about the second one?” he asks. Hanamaki doesn’t answer for a while.  
  
“You were talking most of the time in the second dream, but you weren’t saying anything,” says Hanamaki. “I mean, your mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear you, and you didn’t look like it bothered you at all. I kept telling you to speak up, but I don’t think you heard me. You were… You were smiling like nothing was wrong, and I got more and more desperate to hear you speak, but nothing I said got through. Then I woke up.” He had skipped over details, but feels no desire to go into them, not with his stomach twisting at the memory of crying and begging him to talk, and Matsukawa pulling away from him.  
  
“Was that when you called me in the middle of the night?” asks Matsukawa quietly.  
  
_Ahhh, fuck_ , thinks Hanamaki. His brain is torn between coming up with an excuse or a convincing denial, but as the seconds tick by, he knows his silence is more than enough of an answer.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I just really needed to hear you.”  
  
“Okay,” says Matsukawa, and again, Hanamaki can’t translate what that ‘okay’ means: ‘okay, I get it’, or ‘okay, you’re weirding me out’? “Tell me about the third dream.”  
  
Hanamaki’s fingers curl into a fist, and he takes even longer to answer.  
  
“You weren’t there,” he says at last. “I was in some city and I was looking for you, but I couldn’t find you. There were hundreds of people around me and I kept asking if anyone had seen you, and I kept yelling your name, but no one answered me. The sky ended up being a ceiling with lots of bright lights, and there were more and more people, and it was getting harder to breathe. I couldn’t find you at all. That was last night. That was the worst one.” He takes a deep breath that shudders a little. “I just… I know they’re only dreams, but I keep thinking you’re going to disappear for real, and I’m… I’m _scared_. I want to sleep, but I also don’t because I’m scared of the dreams, and I’m scared of you disappearing, and I don’t know what to do.”  
  
The clock on the living room wall ticks, and it is the loudest sound for a while. Hanamaki has that familiar feeling of wanting to crawl into a hole to die. Matsukawa must think he was a total creep right now, and Hanamaki couldn’t blame him; three dreams in a row and all of him, even if it wasn’t intentional–  
  
“I’m here,” says Matsukawa.  
  
And Hanamaki feels so much relief at those words that his heart feels ready to burst. He takes his arms from his face and looks at him uncertainly, and Matsukawa reaches out and slowly laces their fingers together. His hand is every bit as warm and comforting as when it was pressed to Hanamaki’s back, and Hanamaki supposes that it is this moment that his crush on Matsukawa changes to being well and truly in love with him.  
  
“I’m right here.” Matsukawa’s voice is even softer this time. Hanamaki’s fingers wrap around his, and he exhales somewhat defeatedly, which is not exactly a bad thing in this case, given that his stubbornness was doing his health no favours.  
  
“I’m so fucking tired,” he murmurs, and it feels good to finally admit it to somebody.  
  
“I know,” says Matsukawa. “I know. Get some rest, and I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”  
  
The idea of a nap is still not very appealing right now in case of bad dreams again, but Hanamaki doesn’t want to be a hindrance any more than he feels he already is. He struggles with his thoughts for a moment.  
  
“Do you want me to stay over for the night?” Matsukawa then asks.  
  
“… No,” says Hanamaki, hesitating for a second too long. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
_No._  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Takahiro,” says Matsukawa, and Hanamaki looks startled because they had never used given names with each other before, “if you feel like you’re being a bother, I’m here to tell you that you’re not. I get it, you feel like you’re troubling people, but it’s okay every now and then. Just don’t lie to me.”  
  
He was so good.  
  
“I’m not–”  
  
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Matsukawa’s voice is firmer now and his gaze pierces Hanamaki, who he feels as though he is being read like a book, almost like how Oikawa reads people. “I know you better than that, and I want you to be honest with me. Do you want me to stay over?”  
  
Hanamaki’s jaw clenches for a moment. He thinks about the motorcycles and the wordless conversation and city with the ceiling and hundreds of people milling around, and his hand tightens around Matsukawa’s.  
  
“Yeah,” he murmurs, and Matsukawa nods a little.  
   
“Okay. I’ll walk to my place and get my stuff and then come back,” he says. “I won’t be long, so in the meantime, call your parents and let them know.” He stands up off the floor and Hanamaki refrains from pulling him down on the couch and clinging onto him. Matsukawa takes his hand from Hanamaki’s and brushes it lightly over his forehead with his fingers lingering a little, and he collects his bag and phone, and is soon out the door.  
  
Hanamaki takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair. Where to even start? He feels better now, if only a little. Getting everything that was bothering him off his chest and admitting out loud that he is scared and tired… Matsukawa offering to stay with him. Matsukawa not freaking out and pushing him away. Holding Matsukawa’s hand. _Matsukawa very possibly returning his feelings, holy crap_. Hanamaki presses his hand to his forehead where he had touched it. That had felt nice—really, really nice.  
  
He is pretty sure he is blushing, and part of him is quite glad Matsukawa isn’t here to see it. He forces himself to sit upright, and notes that his head isn’t spinning anymore as he reaches for his phone to call his mother. It’s easy enough to persuade his parents to let Matsukawa stay over; they’ve known him since first year and they liked him, and he knew how to be just the right levels of charming around them. Hanamaki sometimes joked that he learned from Oikawa, and Matsukawa always insisted that it was his own natural charm.  
  
“You wouldn’t know natural charm if it spiked itself in your face,” Hanamaki would say, grinning and ducking as Matsukawa swiped at him.  
  
“You know that’s not true!”  
  
(And Hanamaki also knew whenever his heart beat a little faster around him that he was right.)  
  
Twenty minutes later, Matsukawa lets himself into the house again and makes himself right at home by dumping his overnight bag in Hanamaki’s room and then digging up some cup noodles from the pantry.  
  
“Okay, you really need to eat something and neither of us can cook to save ourselves, so… do you want the chicken flavour, or the beef flavour?” he asks Hanamaki as he studies the packaging label. “Actually, never mind, I want chicken so you get beef.” Hanamaki throws a couch cushion at him. (Cup noodles had never tasted so damn good though.)  
  
When Hanamaki’s parents return from work, Matsukawa switches on that so-called natural charm and thanks them for allowing him to impose on their hospitality, and they make a big show of brushing away his apologies, he’d known Takahiro for so long after all so it wasn’t a problem in the slightest, and oh my goodness Matsukawa-kun did you grow even taller since we last saw you, oh no help yourself to whatever snacks you find, have you tried this brand of cookies before because they’re really delicious, Matsukawa-kun do you like eggplants, I bought a whole bag from the supermarket yesterday because they were going for so cheap and I’m thinking of grilling them for dinner, Takahiro go get the futon from the closet.  
  
“Do you want to take a nap now?” Matsukawa asks quietly after having elbowed Hanamaki out of the way so he could get the futon himself. “We could go to your room and I can wake you up when they call us for dinner.”  
  
“Too early,” says Hanamaki, shaking his head. “If my parents catch me sleeping and leaving you alone, they’ll know something is up.”  
  
They try to get some studying done in the living room while waiting for dinner to be ready, but Hanamaki can barely concentrate due to a mix of tiredness and the fact that Matsukawa is holding his hand again under the table and gently running his thumb over his wrist. It’s both so relaxing and distracting that Hanamaki ends up giving up on homework and puts his head on his free arm and closes his eyes after all, until his parents call them into the dining room.  
  
Dinner involves an incredible amount of food, and Matsukawa makes sure to compliment them over and over again for every single dish. Hanamaki can barely keep up with their small talk and is relieved when dinner is finished and his parents shoo them out of the kitchen when Matsukawa offers to wash the dishes.  
  
“You so learned the dish-washing thing from Oikawa,” Hanamaki mutters to Matsukawa when they head to his room.  
  
“Don’t be jealous,” says Matsukawa, grinning. “We could teach you a thing or two.”  
  
“Like _hell_ you will.”  
  
They make another attempt to study. Matsukawa is sprawled out over the floor and surrounded by his textbooks and worksheets, and Hanamaki sits at his desk. He wants very much to huddle up next to him, to put his head on his shoulder, but he isn’t sure where their relationship (for want of a better word) is at just yet. Hand-holding was all well and good, but would being physically closer (and not in a platonic way) be considered another thi–  
  
Hanamaki dozes off and his forehead hits his desk with a thud, which jolts him awake and causes Matsukawa to look up at him in alarm.  
  
“It’s almost nine. Go take a hot shower and get ready for bed,” says Matsukawa.  
  
“No, mother, I’m fine,” says Hanamaki as he rubs his eyes.  
  
“Seriously? Are you really doing that again?”  
  
“I’ve got too much homework to catch up on,” Hanamaki mumbles.  
  
“And you’ve got all of tomorrow to do it.” Matsukawa hits his leg with an exercise book. “Look, study for just a little more while I’ll go shower first, but then you get ready to go.”  
  
Hanamaki makes a non-committal noise, and Matsukawa rolls his eyes and grabs his things from his overnight bag and heads out. When he comes back a few minutes later in his pyjamas, Hanamaki caves. The light in his room is hurting his eyes, and he has been staring at the same word in his English textbook for the past four minutes and he doesn’t even remember what that word is. He grabs his own change of clothes and makes sure to give Matsukawa, who has a slight I-told-you-so smirk on his face, a light punch to the stomach as he walks past him.  
  
The shower feels good, but no matter how much he splashes his face with water, it doesn’t refresh Hanamaki enough to stay awake for a few more hours. The thought of having more bad dreams (of Matsukawa disappearing or perhaps worse) makes his stomach churn, but he knows he’s going to have to give in some time, and that it would be sooner rather than later.  
  
He feels that he shouldn’t be surprised when he returns to his room to find all his school things already tucked away in a neat stack to one side of his desk, his bed’s blanket pulled back very invitingly, and Matsukawa unfolding the spare blanket over his futon.  
  
“ _Matsukawa_ ,” he says with heavy exasperation.  
  
“Oh, welcome back. Let’s go say goodnight to your parents.” And with minimal man-handling, he steers Hanamaki back out the door.  
  
After the expected oh-are-you-going-to-sleep-already questions from his parents, and Matsukawa smiling and telling them that it’s because they intend to study for all of Sunday (“You’re such a good boy, Matsukawa-kun!”), they bid each other goodnight and troop back to Hanamaki’s room, shutting the door behind them. When Hanamaki opens his mouth to speak, Matsukawa kicks out and sweeps his foot from beneath him, and Hanamaki falls back and lands on his bed clumsily.  
  
“What the f–”  
  
“Don’t even try to argue,” says Matsukawa briskly, hands on hips. “I’m getting sleepy just _looking_ at you.”  
  
“I need to brush my teeth, dumbass!”  
  
“Oh. Oh, right.” Matsukawa shrugs when Hanamaki throws him an indignant glare. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve been so stubborn, can you really blame me for thinking you’d try to stay awake?”  
  
Hanamaki hits him with his pillow. He has a point, though.  
  
Several minutes later, the room lights are off and both are tucked into their respective beds, but Hanamaki lies awake with his hand pressed to his forehead. Just before turning in for the night, Matsukawa had brushed his palm against it and ran his fingers through Hanamaki’s hair briefly. There had been a flicker of something in Matsukawa’s eyes right before he turned away and muttered “goodnight” that made Hanamaki’s heart beat fast, because he is pretty sure that was same look he has whenever he feels the urge to pull Matsukawa close and kiss him.  
  
It could, of course, have been another case of wishful thinking, but regardless, the thought of kissing Matsukawa has been on Hanamaki’s mind for ever since, which _really_ isn’t helpful.  
  
The digital clock on his bedside table continues to change numbers. It’s a little past midnight now, and Hanamaki can hear Matsukawa snoring very softly. From his experiences from shared rooms in training camps, he knows that Matsukawa moves around a lot in his sleep (Hanamaki once found him two futon-spaces from his original spot and sprawled over Iwaizumi and Yahaba, who had both somehow managed to sleep on undisturbed), but was otherwise a quiet sleeper, which makes him a fairly decent roommate provided that people don’t mind waking up with his foot planted in their back or his arm flung across their neck, or both.  
  
The thought makes Hanamaki smile a little. It’s nice, but again, not helpful. He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, and doesn’t realise that Matsukawa has stopped snoring until he hears him murmur “Takahiro, are you still awake?”  
  
“Was it that obvious?” says Hanamaki, surprised.  
  
“Nah, that’s why I asked.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
He hears Matsukawa shuffle around with his blanket before he slaps the futon twice and says, “All right, get down over here. We’ll share the futon.”  
  
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”  
  
“I’d jump on the bed but I don’t think it’ll hold both our weights, so you’ll have to move instead. Come on.”  
  
“Wait, are you sure?”  
  
“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. Get over here. Hurry up.” Matsukawa turns on the flashlight on his phone and shines it at him.  
  
“Argghh, you asshole… okay, okay, I’m coming over.”  
  
Hanamaki almost falls out of bed as he gets out and crawls over to the futon. He lies down with his head on the pillow space cleared for him, and Matsukawa pulls the blanket over them both. At first, it’s awkward, being in such close proximity that he can feel Matsukawa’s body heat, their knees bumping against the others’, arms folded over their chests because they don’t know where else to rest them. And yet, after shifting around experimentally for a brief while, lying there soon becomes very, very warm and comfortable.  
  
“Okay, go to sleep,” says Matsukawa.  
  
“What, that’s it? No bedtime story?”  
  
“Dumbass, you’re already sleep-deprived enough and you still want a bedtime story?”  
  
Hanamaki gives a muffled laugh. “You sound like Iwaizumi.”  
  
“Oh god, I really do…”  
  
Their snickers die down after a moment, and they lie there listening to the sounds of each others’ soft, even breaths.  
  
A small part of Hanamaki still really doesn’t want to fall asleep; not when Matsukawa is this close to him, not when it feels so nice. His pulse has quickened again, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling like when he wakes up in a cold sweat, heart feeling like it’s about to leap into places vital organs are not meant to be.  
  
He wonders how Matsukawa would react if he knew Hanamaki had stayed awake the whole night. Be angry, probably. Punch him. Worry even more than he already did. Hanamaki feels another twinge of guilt in his chest. He has already been acting like enough of a brat and Matsukawa was going out of his way to help him, and the only way Hanamaki could really repay him is by getting some decent sleep and not passing out during practice again. He closes his eyes reluctantly, and after a while, drifts off.  
  
He has a nightmare this time, and it has nothing to do with Matsukawa. He dreams about being rooted to the spot and unable to turn or run away from a frightening presence creeping up to him from behind. Whatever it is coils around his neck and wrists and holds him down, and he struggles and screams soundlessly and–  
  
“ _Oof_ – dammit, Takahiro!“  
  
When he feels something cuff him over the head, Hanamaki’s eyes fly open and he gasps, and it takes him a few seconds before he understands what is going on: in his sleep, he had elbowed Matsukawa in the face and kneed him hard in the stomach.  
  
“Get off me,” Matsukawa grumbles, and Hanamaki shakily complies.  
  
“S-Sorry,” he mutters, face burning, heart pounding painfully, breathing a little heavy. He hears Matsukawa cast about for this phone and the flashlight from it just seconds later brightens up the room and stings at their eyes.  
  
Hanamaki sits upright and runs his hands over his face. He can’t stop shaking and his head hurts and so does his chest, like something clawing at it, and he seriously considers staying awake the whole night after all. Matsukawa also pushes himself into a sitting position and faces him.  
  
“What happened?” he asks, and Hanamaki wishes he wouldn’t. “Hey, look at me–”  
  
“Bad dream,” says Hanamaki without meeting his eyes. “It wasn’t about you that time, it was just a generic nightmare. It’s fi–”  
  
“I swear to god, Takahiro, if you say ‘fine’ one more time when you’re actually not, I’m gonna–”  
  
“Don’t,” Hanamaki mumbles, flinching and curling up a little tighter. “Don’t.” To his horror, he feels like crying from frustration and exhaustion and shame and guilt and god knows what else. He is so, so tired of everything.  
  
“Takahiro,” says Matsukawa, softly now when he sees his fear. Hesitantly, he rests his hand on his arm, and the touch keeps Hanamaki from falling apart. Hanamaki hears him shuffle closer and when he raises his head, he sees Matsukawa reach for his face and he stiffens, reminded of his nightmare, of coils wrapped around his neck, but when Matsukawa presses his hands to his skin, they are warm and gentle.  
  
And he leans in and kisses Hanamaki’s left temple, and Hanamaki almost slaps himself because surely this isn’t real. This is just another dream from which he’d wake up at dawn and feel a crushing disappointment and loss of desire to sleep again, _surely_.  
  
But then Matsukawa tilts his head down a little and kisses him on the lips, and any hesitation and confusion Hanamaki has instantly disappears, and his heart is pounding again but for very different reasons now—for all the right reasons. It is very much real. _Matsukawa_ is so real, and Hanamaki finds himself falling in love with everything he is all over again. There is a fire, a warmth in his chest that replaces that unpleasant clawing sensation, and as ridiculous as it sounds, Hanamaki feels as though Matsukawa is kissing the bad dreams away, and he loves it. He loves him for it. (He loves him, full stop.)  
  
Matsukawa pulls away from the kiss first, but wraps his arms around Hanamaki and holds him as he kisses his temple again. Hanamaki buries his face against his shoulder and clutches fistfuls of his shirt and practically melts against him as he closes his eyes and allows himself to enjoy the feeling of Matsukawa’s fingers tracing their way gently through his hair.  
  
Before now, just like when he was lying in bed wide awake not long ago, he sometimes thought about what it would be like kissing Matsukawa, holding him, and just generally being close to him—not like when they fooled around play-fighting or had their arms slung casually around each others’ shoulders, but being close as something more than friends. He had always assumed that daydreams would only ever be daydreams.  
  
But now, he knows that nothing would ever win over the reality of it, because it is better than he could have imagined; kissing Matsukawa was everything and more, and being held like this made Hanamaki feel inexplicably but wonderfully safe. He would have been content just staying this way until the sun rises and for much longer after that, but after a while, Matsukawa pulls his arms back and straightens up, and Hanamaki reluctantly follows suit.  
  
“Come here,” says Matsukawa when he lies back down on the futon, and Hanamaki lies down next to him without much more prompting. Matsukawa switches off the light from his phone and the room is once again darkened, just barely lit by the moonlight from outside. Hanamaki feels his arm around him, pulling him closer and tucking him to his chest, and the weight and warmth is comforting, like something guarding him against the night.  
  
“Okay, let’s try this,” Matsukawa murmurs, and by their closeness, Hanamaki can feel him speak as well as hear him—his light breath in his hair, his chest moving, his words forming in his throat. “Picture you and me: we’re on motorcycles, and you’re riding whatever motorcycle you like, and I’m riding… let’s say, a really sexy red and black Yamaha.”  
  
“Issei–”  
  
“We’re riding through whatever amazing scenery it looked like in the first dream, and we’re going fast, and I don’t disappear at all. We ride next to each other the entire time. You with me so far?”  
  
“I… yeah. Yeah, I am,” Hanamaki murmurs.  
  
“Then we take a break somewhere quiet, and we just… talk,” Matsukawa continues, voice soft and low. “You laugh at all my jokes because you know I’m absolutely hilarious—yes, just like that, thank you—and we talk about anything that comes to mind. When I’m speaking, you can hear every word I’m saying clearly, and when you’re speaking, I can hear everything you’re saying too and I respond so you know I’m listening, and everything is okay.” He pauses. “Takahiro?”  
  
“Keep going,” says Hanamaki, closing his eyes.  
  
“And then we ride into… well, you pick your choice of city. We could go into Sendai if you want something close to home, or we could go to Tokyo if you want to be fancy. We ride into the city and park our motorcycles, and everyone swoons over how sexy the bikes are.” Despite himself, Hanamaki gives a little laugh, and Matsukawa continues. “We walk around everywhere, and there are thousands and thousands of people all around us, but we don’t lose sight of each other even once. We go to all the popular shopping areas and play games at all the arcades and eat mountains of food—and since this is our imagination, we can eat nice and expensive things all we want as well—and you also find a place that makes the most amazing profiteroles you’ve ever had–” Hanamaki laughs again, and it’s a good sound, “–and we still don’t lose sight of each other. I’m with you the whole time. Then, we go back to get our motorcycles, and we ride back home, and again, there’s the amazing scenery, and we’re going even faster, and I’m still with you. I haven’t disappeared. We’re both okay.”  
  
The images are beautifully vivid in Hanamaki’s mind, and he can almost feel everything in detail; the rushing wind from the motorcycle rides, delicious food from places they’d never tried before, the bustle from the busy city scene… Matsukawa by his side.  
  
“Takahiro?”  
  
“Yeah… I’m fine,” Hanamaki murmurs, and for the first time in days, he means it. “I’m sorry, Issei.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For… all this.”  
  
“Are you talking in your sleep? You’re not making any sense.”  
  
Hanamaki backhands him in the chest, and when Matsukawa gives a soft laugh and presses another kiss to his hair, he thinks, yes, this is probably what it feels like to fall in love with the same person over and over and over again. Hanamaki tilts his head up a little and kisses Matsukawa jaw—or what he assumes is his jaw because it is too dark to tell, but either way it is skin, and it is a kiss, and that is all that matters—and Matsukawa’s arm tightens around him a little. Their breathing syncs after a while, and Hanamaki feels himself getting pulled into sleep, and for the first time in days, the thought of dreams doesn’t scare him or make him uneasy; he has something so much better, now.  
  
And he has a kaleidoscope of nonsensical dreams again throughout the night: he remembers various people he knows playing a game of a mix between golf and water polo with a dash of dodgeball (it made sense in the dream); a loud party in full-swing at a huge swanky mansion with flowers and pine trees all over the place; origami fish coming to life and asking for directions on how to get back to the ocean; of flying freely through the sky above a vast city until it begins to rain and he has to take shelter in a building which turns out to be his junior high school.  
  
Right before Hanamaki wakes up, he has one more dream involving Matsukawa and a (red and black) motorcycle again, but this time, Matsukawa is sitting on the ground and leaning against it, enjoying the beautiful scenery in silence. Hanamaki walks over and sits beside him, and they join hands, and they stay that way for what feels like a long time.  
  
It is nearly eleven in the morning when Hanamaki wakes up to sunlight streaming through his curtains. Still warm and comfortable, he finds himself with his head resting on Matsukawa’s chest and Matsukawa splayed out like a starfish, with one arm curled around him, the other arm flung over his head, one leg propped up against the wall, and the other with most of their shared blanket tangled around it. Hanamaki takes it all in, and he begins to laugh hard enough that Matsukawa wakes up too.  
  
And he feels fine. He really feels fine again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished! Chapter 2 ended up being so much longer than chapter 1 ahaha;;;;;  
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


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